To everyone who has been asking about Teddy’s birth story, thank you for your patience. I like to let these memories settle before I write about them—Clara’s story took me almost a year—so I could tell it clearly. Compared with that traumatic first birth, Teddy’s arrival was calm, straightforward, and mostly exactly what we hoped for. I’m so grateful. There were a few small surprises, but the biggest challenge this time was managing the anxiety I carried from my previous experience. In many ways, Teddy’s birthday felt like the emotional culmination of four years of ups and downs.
I had a scheduled C-section because going into labor posed too much risk for both me and Teddy—my last labor had triggered a placental abruption with Clara. Knowing his birthday in advance felt strange at first, but my anxious brain welcomed the certainty. After feeling so out of control before, having a clear plan was a huge comfort.
The day was April 16. There were no false alarms or labor scares beforehand, which was already a blessing. We left Clara with her grandparents and drove to the hospital, arriving around 6:30 a.m. The calmness was nice—no pain is nothing but good—but it also left room for worry. My last delivery had gone from normal to emergency so quickly that I kept bracing for the unexpected.
They got me into a gown quickly and started an IV. I joked with the nurse about my notoriously difficult veins. As usual, it took a few tries—three people attempted it before an anesthesiologist numbed my hand and found a working vein. The fasting and dehydration that come with surgery days made my veins even harder to access. It was a minor irritation, but it helped keep my mind occupied and less focused on the growing nerves.
A fetal monitor was placed on my belly the whole time, which felt reassuring, and the anesthesiologist had a great sense of humor. He told us his toddler had just slept through the night for the first time and joked that he was in a wonderful mood—definitely a good omen. Soon it was time for the epidural. I was wheeled into the operating room alone for that step, with John joining me afterwards.
Having been separated from John during my emergency C-section with Clara, the walk down the hall felt intense. I had a brief panic attack as they moved me—my chest tightened and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Once I realized I could breathe, I felt embarrassed but forced myself to calm down and remember what an incredible day this was supposed to be.
Once in the OR they had me sit up and curl my back for the epidural. My spine decided to be stubborn too, so it took a few attempts to get the placement correct. At one point I felt fluid running down my back and asked if it was blood—it turned out to be spinal fluid. Odd detail, but it distracted me from worrying. Eventually the epidural was in, I was laid down and moved onto the operating table, and then I recognized the ceiling above me.
It was the same operating room I had been in when Clara was born. I knew that ceiling—having stared at it while I desperately wished my daughter would cry. The memory hit me hard. John later told me he realized it was the same hallway and the same door from outside. For a moment, we both felt the weight of the past, but when John walked in and took my hand, everything shifted. Excitement replaced fear. We were about to meet our son.
A few minutes later the doctor commented on all the hair and how strong his kicks had been. I blurted out, “Why isn’t he crying?!”—that single sound is all a mother asks for in that moment. The surgeon laughed and said he was still inside, then he was born and the cries started. Hearing him wail was the greatest, most cathartic release. They placed him on my chest for skin-to-skin almost immediately. He was calm, breathing, and peeking at me with half-open eyes.
We stared at him, crying and laughing at once. He had tiny hairs along his shoulders—our “little werewolf,” we joked—and we marveled at every freckle and detail. The nurses weighed and measured him while he kept letting out little bursts of cry, and John and I soaked in every second.
There was some excessive bleeding after delivery because my uterus wasn’t contracting well, so they gave me a dose of pitocin to control it. Thankfully that worked and I did not need a blood transfusion. Once everything was stitched up, I was able to nurse Teddy in the recovery area. Lying there with him on my chest, seeing John’s eyes fill with tears, it felt like a profound miracle—even though healthy babies are born every day, this felt uniquely monumental to us.
We were moved to our postpartum room and then introduced Teddy to John’s parents, my mom, and finally to Clara. Watching Clara gently touch his head and climb into bed with us was indescribable—pure euphoria. I am endlessly grateful to the doctors, nurses, and family who helped bring both of our children safely into the world and supported me throughout the pregnancy.
Recovery after this second C-section felt easier than the first. I had less blood loss, a smaller incision, and was up and moving in the hospital the next day. I even managed a morning shower and stopped taking pain medication shortly after we returned home. One practical tip that helped me both times was an abdominal binder the hospital provided after Clara’s birth. It’s a wide Velcro band you wrap around your waist that helps hold everything together. It’s comforting when you cough, laugh, or sneeze, and it helped me stand tall and move with less pain—I wore mine for about four weeks postpartum. I mentioned it on social media and was surprised how many moms hadn’t heard of them, so if you’re having a C-section, ask your hospital about one.
Thank you all so much for the love, messages, and support during this emotional time. Your well wishes meant more than I can say. And yes, Teddy is already growing fast—how is my baby boy this big already? Complete insanity, in the best possible way.